


Dollhouse

by Zai42



Series: Displacement [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Arousal From Killing, F/M, Femdom, Minor Character Death, displaced emotions, monster hunting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-29 17:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zai42/pseuds/Zai42
Summary: Daisy teaches Jon the thrill of the Hunt, among other things.





	Dollhouse

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to episode 96. Don't judge me.

The thing in the trunk doesn't flinch when Daisy flings open the hatch. Its pupils don't even contract in the glare of her torch. There's no point in faking, Daisy supposes, when one of the captors staring down at you is the _Archivist._ (Daisy still thinks the title with some disdain, but she finds it's fading somewhat these days. She wonders if Elias knows. If he's happy about it. She tries not to care overmuch about what Elias thinks.)

Sims, to his credit, says nothing as Daisy drags the thing to the nearest tree, pins its cuffed hands over its head, and drives a knife through both palms and several inches of tree trunk. The thing is bound hand and foot and gagged, but after Sarah Baldwin, Daisy isn't taking any chances. Sims is arching an eyebrow at her, not speaking, not daring to risk her wrath by compelling her with an articulated question.

Daisy nods her head at the thing. "One of your doll friends," she says. "Calls itself John Fellows." Sims nods, recognition in his features at the name, and glances at the thing pinned to the tree and back at Daisy, waiting for her to continue. "Thought I could teach you to throw a punch," Daisy says, "maybe a few other tricks."

There's surprise but no horror on Sims' face as she says this. He's quiet for a moment, his eyes flicking between it and her, then he says very carefully, "May I speak with it first?"

There's no compulsion there, no tug of power for her to shake off, so Daisy shrugs. "Don't see why you'd want to--but I suppose that's your job. Fine."

Sims is gentler about the gag than Daisy would have been, unclasping it from behind the thing's head rather than yanking it out of its mouth; it takes Daisy a moment to realize he's avoiding its teeth. The thing glares at him, though the expression isn't quite right. "They say you're nothing like the woman before you," it says. _"She_ was something to be scared of. You--"

"Do you know of an entity called the Not Them?" Sims asks. His question slices through the thing's babbling like a scalpel, and it shuts up immediately. Daisy almost sympathizes with it.

"I--I know what it is," the thing says. It starts to say something else, but Sims talks over it again:

"What happens to the people it takes?"

The thing stares at him, first as if he's stupid and then with the slow, awful smile of a predator. "They _die,"_ it says with relish. "It _eats_ them. It hollows them out, scrapes them clean of everything they used to be and takes them for itself. I've heard," it adds in a tone like a twisting knife, "that is is _very_ painful."

Daisy starts forward, but Sims stops her with a calm hand on her shoulder. No--not calm. He is _furious._ He radiates with it, the same flashfire rage from back in The Trophy Room, but now he has it tightly leashed in a way that Daisy won't admit she admires. "I see," Sims says. "And...how might we go about hurting _you?"_

The compulsion in that question is so powerful that _Daisy_ feels it, almost reels with it, and when she finally registers what Sims had actually _said_ she barks out a laugh, dark and delighted. If she didn't know any better, she'd say the thing looked _scared._

It tries to babble, to stall, but soon it is spilling its guts, giving away a million tiny ways to hurt it, all interspersed with furious curses. Once the curses start to outnumber the information, Daisy shakes off Sims' hand, strides up to it, and punches it square in its too-perfect teeth. She splits open her knuckles, but the thing's head bounces off the tree trunk with a satisfying sound and it shuts up, so Daisy counts that as a win.

She shows Sims her bloodied knuckles. "This is why you shouldn't aim for the face," she says blandly. "This, or you'll break your hand on their jaw. Lemme see your hand."

He allows her to fold his hand into a proper fist, eyeing her intently as she explains not to tuck in his thumb or he'll break it, how tight to hold his fist, the proper placement of his knuckles. He's a quick learner and he doesn't break anything in the process. Maybe it's because the thing doesn't actually have any bones. Daisy points out all the spots that would hurt the most if they were on a human, plus spots to avoid on vampires and a few other monsters she's fought before. After punching they move on to handling a knife. He takes to that even more quickly than punching. Daisy even shows him a few tricks that are more showy than functional, partly just to show off. Then, for the hell of it, she shows him the basics of handling her firearm--just in case of emergency.

By the time they light the thing on fire, more of its stuffing is on the outside than in. It doesn't scream as it melts and burns, and Daisy doesn't know if it's because it refuses to or because it is no longer capable.

It takes Daisy a moment to realize that Sims is trembling next to her as he watches it burn. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye, briefly annoyed that he might be having a breakdown over a puppet--but no. He's breathing heavily, his hands tight fists at his sides--but his eyes are bright, fixed on the smoldering remains of the thing that called itself John Fellows.

 _Ah,_ Daisy thinks. Sims turns as if sensing her realization, and she kicks his legs out from under him, straddling him almost before his back has finished hitting the ground. The last time they were in this forest with her hand at his neck, he had cried and begged, and Daisy almost wonders if she can get him to do it again. Instead he tilts his head back with a dreamy sigh, closing his eyes and exposing his throat more fully. His hands stroke up her thighs with a gentleness she isn't sure she appreciates. She tugs his cock free of his clothing--he's already hard, dripping with it, and she shoves her damp fingers in his mouth. It means she has to let go of his throat to tug her own clothes out of the way, but he laps obediently at her fingers and only moans when she shoves them deeper in his throat, so it's worth it.

His eyes open when she sinks down on him, bright and piercing in the dying light of the fire. Daisy presses her hand to his throat again; his fingers twitch and tighten on her thighs. She leans in and hisses in his ear, "Are you going to fuck me _back?"_

His hips roll up to meet hers and he moans, and Daisy wonders how in the hell she hadn't guessed that Sims would get off on being talked down to. She chuckles, low and cruel, and starts murmuring a litany of filth, her lips right up against the spot behind his ear. She calls him a slut, asks if he'd ever been properly bent over his desk, offers to fuck him til he can't sit for a week. All while he writhes beneath her, his lip starting to bleed from how hard he's biting it, his hands bruising the thin strip of skin she's exposed as his fingers dig into her hips.

She _uses_ him, there on the forest floor while a monster burns beside them, secure in the knowledge that he's using her as well.

His eyes bore into her and she can almost smell it, the question that he isn't asking that is burning on his tongue. "Say it," she hisses. "Ask."

"Who are you thinking of?" She hadn't been expecting that, but she doesn't fight the truth it drags out of her. "Basira," she sighs. She'd never do this to Basira. She'd treat her right. Lay her down in a bed and make her come at least twice with her tongue and fingers before she even got started fucking her in earnest. "You?"

Sims swallows; his fingers twitch against Daisy's skin. "Martin," he says thickly.

She should have guessed as much. Sweet-faced Martin, who flinches away from her whenever she slams a door too loudly. "They're too good for us," Daisy says.

Sims turns, stares into the embers that smell of sawdust and clove. "I know."

Daisy is cruel; she drags it out until Sims is a heaving mess beneath her, his every breath a broken moan. She comes twice, luxuriates in it each time, relishing Sims' helpless begging almost as much as her orgasm. It's only when he's limp and compliant beneath her that she lets him finish, pulling away at the last second to let him drench himself in come. He's still dazed and groaning when she tosses him a water bottle from the back of the car.

"Clean yourself off before we go," she says. "Don't want to have to dry clean the upholstery." She kicks through the remains of the fire. Nothing left. Nothing human, anyway. Still, she extinguishes the last of it and makes a token effort at covering it up with leaves. Sims staggers up to her, shirt damp; some of his uncanny calm seems to have left him, and he frowns at the pile of ash.

"Will someone come looking for him?" he asks.

Daisy shrugs. "Don't care. Anyone who does will just be another doll, and I know how to hurt them now." She shoots him a smirk. "Thanks to you."

Sims makes a noise between a grunt and a laugh. "Yeah. You're welcome."


End file.
